Red Herring
by DangerousDiamondDarling
Summary: You really think it’s all about Sam, Johnny boy? Haven’t you ever thought that just maybe I want both of them? Set after DT, John is alive but the Demon isn’t finished with the Winchesters. Dean POV. Hurt!Dean, plus appearances by Bobby, John and the YED
1. Devil May Care 1

**_Red Herring._**

Summary: -You really think it's all about Sam, Johnny boy? Haven't you ever thought that just maybe I want both of them?- Set after season one final Devil's Trap, John is alive but the Demon isn't finished with the Winchesters. And is Sam the Demon's red herring? Dean POV mostly. Hurt!Dean Worried!Sam Guilty!John, plus appearances by Bobby and the YED in later chapters.

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A/N: Hello to anyone reading this! I know I haven't posted in a while but I have been working and this is one of the things I've been working on. This is the first chapter in part one, Devil May Care, I am looking for a beta so if anyone thinks they're up to the job say so and although I have a lot more of this written down and trust me, it gets more exciting, I WILL NOT POST ANY MORE IF YOU DON'T REVIEW. So if you want any more please R&R, if I don't get a good response I'll take it down from the site.

_**Anna**_

_**MBCT**_

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_**Red H**__**erring**_

_A metaphor for a diversion or distraction from an original objective._

_A clue that is misleading or that has been falsified, intended to divert attention._

_Something that draws attention away from the central issue._

_Any diversion intended to distract attention from the main issue._

_Part One:_

_Devil may care._

"Let him go or I swear to God-"

"_What? What are you and God gonna do? You see, as far as I'm concerned, this is justice_._"_

"_You destroyed my children. How would you feel if I killed __your __family? Oh, that's right. I forgot. I did."_

"_Still, two wrongs don't make a right."_

"You son of a bitch."

"_Your dad? He's in here with me—trapped inside his own meat suit. He says "hi", by the way." _

"_He's gonna tear you apart." _

"_He's gonna taste the iron in your blood." _

"Let him go, you son of a bitch."

"_You wanna know why? Because they got in the way."_

"_My plans for you, Sammy – you… and all the children like you." _

"Listen… you mind just gettin' this over with, huh? 'Cause I really can't stand the monologuing."

"_Funny. But that's all part of your M.O., isn't it? Mask all that nasty pain. Mask the truth."_

"Oh, yeah? What's that?"

"_You know, you fight and you fight for this family, but the truth is…they don't need you. Not like you need them. Sam—he's clearly John's favorite. Even when they fight, it's more concern than he's ever shown you."_

"I bet you're real proud of your kids, too, huh? Oh, wait, I forgot. _I wasted 'em_."

_Agony ripped through his body, starting from his chest._

_He couldn't breathe._

"Dad! Dad, don't you let it kill me!"

_He was choking on his own blood._

_Tasting the bitter metallic taste of blood as it seeped out his mouth._

_He couldn't breathe._

"Dad, please."

_Everything was going black…_

"DEAN!" He was shaken back into reality by a very worried looking Sam.

"Sammy- Wha- Woss goin' on?" He was alarmed by his shock awakening and the concern on Sam's face.

"What's going on?" Sam sounded a bit inquisitive and his unease had slipped down a notch although it was still there. "Dean, you were having a nightmare."

"What?" He had a nightmare? No way, not again, that's Sammy's thing.

"You were talking in you're sleep, yelling, it sounded painful." Sam had a sympathetic look on his face.

"Oh… right. Sorry." He muttered quietly while rubbing his hands over his face, then held back a grimace of pain from the effect of a tightening across his chest as he stretched his arms upward with a tired yawn.

He could still feel and taste the imaginary blood in his mouth.

"You've got nothing to be sorry about." Sam had been forced to abandon the position he had been in when he had shaken Dean awake, leaning over him with one hand on Dean's bicep, and was now sitting next to Dean on his brother's bed. "Do you want to talk about it?" He knew Dean wouldn't answer with the affirmative but he still had to try.

"Nah, I'm fine… just tired." Sam just nodded at Dean's denial, it was Dean's way but he was afraid that this was one thing that Dean couldn't deal with alone.

"You sure you're alright?" He questioned.

"Sam, I'm fine. Just go back to sleep. Don't worry about it." Dean said in a tone signifying the end of the conversation. Sam didn't move from his older brother's side.

They were both silent for a minute, both considering the off balance way their small family had been behaving lately, after the yellow eyed demon's newest attempt at harming them any way possible.

"It's nearly morning," Sam said finally, indicating the lightening window with a wave of his hand. "I think I'm just gonna stay up now."

"What? Oh, right." Staring at the coming dawn out the window with great surprise, Dean was obviously still adjusting to reality, the remnants of his dream still haunting his face.

"I'm gonna go grab a shower." Dean said after another couple moments silence and left the room moving painstakingly, being careful to not cause any more pain then necessary to his battered body, leaving Sam sitting on his bed alone.

They had been at Bobby's place for three days now and three days on the road before that. They had been at the hospital for nearly two weeks after Dean first woke up, the doctors said it was a miracle, Sam didn't know what the hell it was, he was just glad to have his brother back.

Most of the time Dean had been asleep at the hospital but the doctors had assured them that this was normal after coming out of a coma like he had and would stop with time over the coming weeks, and it had, but Dean still wasn't very alert most of the time and sometimes he seemed completely unaware of what was going on around him, that, the doctors didn't have an answer for and no one but Sam seemed to notice the change in his brother.

This _nightmare_ seemed to be just a new symptom that only Sam could see. The shorter temper that Dean had shown in the last few weeks since the demon attack, the tired dreariness that seemed a new constant in Dean's features, the times when Sam had caught him staring vacantly at nothing then looking startled at wherever he found himself, and, Sam had noticed since they first meet up with their father, a new found leadership, and now, this nightmare or whatever it was had Dean practically asleep while standing. It scared him, hell, it scared him a lot more then he'd care to admit.

But Dean would never talk about anything to do with himself, even if it would help him, he would always just call a do-over or something stupid like that to avoid talking about his issues if he ever accidentally let something slip when times were stressed, because it was always someone else who he had to look after, never himself. Hell, he was bleeding his guts out and he was still more concerned about their father then himself, and it was beginning to frustrate Sam more and more.

So, resigned to the fact that it would take a lot more then a 'how you feeling?' to figure out how his recovering brother was actually handling things and that the only breakfast that would be available to him was some stale and possibly poisonous lucky charms from when they had last stayed there as kids and some equally questionable milk, Sam hauled himself to his feet and left the room.

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Review if you want any more. 


	2. Devil May Care 2

_A/N: Hi everyone! Thanks for the reviews! I know it wasn't the most exciting chapter so thanks for reviewing, you guys are the reason I posted this! And to the people who added to alerts, please don't do that without reviewing, I know it wasn't the best chapter but I wouldn't have posted at all if that's all I had gotten. I have a bad problem with people adding my other story (Fifteen) to their favorites list without reviewing so I find anyone adding anything without reviewing annoying._

_Next chapter will be rated M for langue and just general M-ness and imagination gore, -draws colourful rainbow in air with hands- Imagination Gore ;)_

_Thank you to **Shadowless.Whispers, Merisha, Edjen, iluvsprntrl, Ani-maniac494, heather03nmg** (nice to see you again ;) ), **Laura's-eyes, AllieMcD, PurpleSpinx** and especially **lime juize** for her 'unique' brand of motivation (Breathe, dammit! BREATHE! Lol) I usually like to reply personally but I only have a limited amount of time and I figured you would all appreciate this much better ;) Hope it lives up to your expectations._

_**Red Herring**_

_A metaphor for a diversion or distraction from an original objective._

_Part Two:_

_Devil may care._

The shower was hot and for that he was thankful. It meant he could feel the burning hot water on his skin and feel reality soaking in. The dream was nothing. The dream was gone. It was time to focus on real life, on him and Sam and Dad and Bobby, here and now, not distorted versions of what happened weeks ago replaying in his head over and over again at night.

His skin is a blotchy red when he finally gets out of the shower, and when he walks fully dressed into the kitchen Sammy is sitting at the table eating cereal and reading some frigging old book of Bobby's with a less then pleased look on his face, and he hasn't noticed Dean yet.

"What ya lookin' at, Sammy?" Dean says loudly from behind and makes Sam jump and spill milk all over his lap as his knees kick the small round table in the middle of the kitchen up and sends his bowl flying over the edge.

"Jesus Christ! Dean! A little warning next time!" He's more shocked then pissed but Dean still snickers at his triumph.

"Whatever," Dean is still grinning, "Hey, I'm gonna go work on the Impala, I'll see ya later, geek boy."

He looks slightly taken aback and disappointed, "Aren't you at least gonna eat something before you go?"

"Nah, not hungry. Besides, can't leave my baby in this state, can I." It's a statement as he flashes one last smirk and heads out the door before Sam can say another word but hears a frustrated sigh as the door smacks shut noisily behind him.

Bobby's place is an old house covered in cracking paint and wreckage and fragments of cars and other such things layering the front yard along with a couple beat-up old multi-colored trucks and a big junkyard round back along with some woodland. The Impala is around back, in the junkyard, wanting to be worked on.

His chest is a constant ache, every time it moves with his breathing it stings with pain, but he pushes on, he's had worse, it'll heal, he'll get over it...

He makes it out to his baby and sighs himself as he looks at the damage, it is one hell of a fender-bender, someone really should teach Sam how to drive. He wasn't really aware of anything going on around him by the time it happened, but that damn truck had sure done a thing or two to his baby.

He works on the car, his black beauty, until after midday then heads back out as soon as he's grabbed some water and half a sandwich because he can just hear Sam's worried voice in his head if he found out Dean hadn't eaten anything. He says 'Hi' to Bobby and makes sure he has a witness to prove he has eaten something today to Sam. Then he says an uncomfortable and quick 'Hi' and 'Bye' to his dad who still looks guilty as hell and can't look him in the eye before practically running out of there and back to working on the Impala as fast as he can.

God, things are awkward with him and his dad at the moment. John can barely stand to look at him, so guilt-ridden about what happened when he was possessed, the things that were said and done, and now Dean can barely stand to look at his father because he knows the remorse that'll be there.

He works slowly for another hour or two before accepting the fact that with his body in the bad shape it is he needs a break, then he sits on top of the hood of a smashed up old red car and contemplates the sight of the junkyard before him.

Then all of a sudden it's a dark cool evening and he's in a different part of the junkyard sitting on top of the roof of a dark emerald green car. His arms are burning painfully, and when he looks down at them he sees that from above the elbow they are covered in scratches and there's blood and skin under his fingernails and on his hands.

His vision blurs and he is stunned to find he has started crying, but when he wipes at his face with the back of his hand he realizes his face is far too wet for him to have only just started crying, he's obviously been doing it for a while.

He wonders vaguely if you can have an emotion breakdown and not remember it, he feels like he's in a trance, dazed and confused he numbly hauls himself down onto the hood and then onto the ground. He doesn't know where he is but a numb, involuntary, emotionless, trance like, state guides him to walk, just walk and don't worry about it.

It's well and truly night by the time he finds his way back, the sky is a solid black hue up above and everything is dark except for the lights in Bobby house. He slips quietly in through the front door and closes it softly behind him. He can hear Bobby, Sammy and Dad arguing about something in the lounge to his left, he vaguely thinks it's about him, the door is ajar but he doesn't go in, instead he sneaks down the hall, grabbing his leather jacket from a hook on the wall by the door as he goes and then turns in to the bathroom near the end of the hall.

He closes the door behind him and hears the lock 'clink' softly as he turns it, he puts his hands either side of the basin and looks at himself in the mirror above it, his face is full of wet tear tracks and he looks tired as hell, purple gathering under his eyes that are sunken and hollow. He takes his shirt off and there's a bruise that looks like it could come from a hand grabbing his arm with far too much force by his right shoulder, there's bloody fingernail clawing marks and scratches on both of his arms at about bicep level and then there's the impressive scars on his chest from that bastard Demon.

Long story short he looks like crap.

He spends the next ten minutes washing his face, arms and hands until there's no trace of blood or tears, then he dries and slips the shirt and jacket on. Still moving in unthinking automatic he unlocks the door, shuts it, and sneaks down to the front door which he opens and slams it shut drawing the attention of the others.


	3. Devil May Care 3

_I am so sorry it took me this long to update! I feel bad; you people must've thought I'd given up on the story. Sorry! This chapter is sort of chick flicky and I think I made Sam a little over dramatised but he has had a rather bad year and (and this is my reason for updating so late) I have been horribly sick! And trying to get this out was just too much for me, so sorry if this chapter is crap but I had to work my poor runny nose, sore throat, butt off to get it done and here it is._

_I'm very silly. It is the next chapter that is M._

_Review if you can forgive my lateness :)_

_**Anna**_

_**MBCT**_

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_**Red H**__**erring**_

_A clue that is misleading or that has been falsified, intended to divert attention._

_Part Three:_

_Devil may care._

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"Dean!" He hears Sam first but it's John who leads the three of them into the room.

"Where the hell have you been?!" Sometimes he's sure his father is somehow growling his words to them instead of speaking.

"Just workin' on the Impala, wandered off and got lost." He says it causally and the look in John's eyes changes from concerned to murderous.

He hears Bobby whisper "Thank God." under his breath and sees Sam visibly sag with relief, slumping his shoulders and leaning against the wall.

"What the hell were you thinkin'?! Staying out this late after everything that's happened lately! God, Dean! Do you even know what time it is?!" But of course it is John who demands his full attention and answers.

He shrugs, "Guess I just wasn't thinkin'." He says evenly, he doesn't know why he is bothering with this whole cover up thing or why he's so calm, he wonders briefly if it was a nervous breakdown.

John just shakes his head and turns away taking a deep audible breath and muttering "Jesus Christ." quietly to himself.

"You gave us quite a scare there, Kiddo." It's Bobby's turn now. "Try not to do it again for a while, huh?" And then he walks over to John who is standing in the corner staring at the wall.

It's Sam who Dean notices now, he's hunched over and staring at the floor, he won't look at Dean. "Sam," He tries as he takes a step towards him but Sam is finding the floor very, very interesting at the moment. "Sammy." He says it sternly and Sam looks up, tears welling in his eyes and walks away from him down the hallway as Dean curses himself silently, knowing he just blew his shot at calming Sam down before he got any worse.

_SPN_

John and Bobby watch as Sam leaves with curiosity, the boys had been acting different lately.

Their family had always had its fair share of three a.m. yelling sessions but when it came down to it the Winchesters and their extended family stuck together, that's why John didn't understand why they had been acting like this, they were shutting him and Bobby out.

They had always been co-dependent, relying on each other to survive but now it was like they were different halves of the same person. Sam had always been outspoken about whatever he thought was right and it didn't matter what John, Dean or any one else thought, since John had meet up with them Sam always took Dean's side on anything and everything when there were other people involved, and Dean who was usually just a neutral mediator was now fighting for whatever Sam wanted or thought, it had never been like that before.

The Winchesters stuck together, especially when other people were involved, Sam and Dean were treating John and Bobby like outsiders, like strangers, only trusting what they had to with them, like they were the kind of people John always tried to protect them from (social workers, cops and all those sorts), like they weren't to be trusted. John knew he had done some stupid and horrible things this year (and God, how he regretted some of it) but still, to have his own boys, his _sons_, not trust him, or Bobby, was strange and he was beginning to wonder what had happened in the time he wasn't their with his boys and why had it changed them so much? And why were his boys acting like they expected the other one to die at any moment?

Bobby breaks the awkward silence following Sam's departure in which all three of them find the floor very interesting, "Well, it's getting late; it's about time someone got to cooking some chow." And with that he sets off for the kitchen.

Then he and his Dad just stand there avoiding each others eyes until John says so quietly Dean barely hears him, "You alright? No injuries or anything?"

"No sir." Dean says just as quietly and shakes his head.

"Ok then." John heads into the kitchen where Bobby just left for and Dean is left to stand and think about it all for a couple minutes before looking for Sam.

Sam is sitting on his bed in their room with his head down. There are a couple spare rooms in Bobby's house in a case any other hunter be in want of shelter, even a sleep out down the back of his place should anyone ever have need of a safe haven outside law enforcements radar, but Sam and Dean were placed in the same room, with a bed on either side of the tiny space, it was a fairly small room for two full grown hunters to share, even temporarily, but it wasn't like this was the first time they had been forced to share close quarters. This time it was because Dean was still recuperating and both of them knew there was no way Sam was having Dean any further away then across a room at night. The walls were wooden and unpainted aside from some varnish and the floor was a thinning pea green carpet that held the memories of dozens of hunters hurt and bleeding, tired and happy, young, old, strong and true, good times and bad. There was the occasional bloodstain and food and drink stain plus the odd burn mark or two and it was thread bare, hell, he remembers him and Sammy putting a few of those stains there themselves when they were younger, maybe even when they were teenagers.

"Sammy?" Nope, nothing, not so much as a twitch, at least that means Sam knows he's not alone.

"Sammy." He says it sombrely but still nothing.

"Dammit, Sam! Look at me!" Sam looks up at him and Goddamn it, he's crying, tears leaking out the corners of his eyes.

Sam is wiping his eyes now but it's pretty useless when they just keep coming.

He tries to reach out to his brother but Sam flinches away like he's been physically hit.

He sighs, "Sammy… It's okay, alright? Everything's fine. There's nothing-"

Sam is suddenly angry with him and interrupts, "What is it with you? Why the hell do you always have to do this crap? A couple of weeks ago you were in a coma and the doctors didn't think you had much of a chance, hell! A couple months before that and you viewed your only options as 'burial or cremation'! Now you just wander off and leave me to think…" He trails off, a hurt look in his eyes, then he starts again, "You just leave us to worry and it doesn't matter? No, of course it doesn't! Because it's you, isn't it? It doesn't matter if you live or die! If you just leave me alone after everything we've gone through this year! After Jess, after everything!" Sammy seemed to have been saving up his hysterics from the last three weeks for this moment, his fears, his doubts, his anger and his goddamned puppy-eyes.

Dean feels a horrible wrench of his heart that has nothing to do with the damage done by the demon.

He looks down to the floor and fidgets as he starts speaking, "Sammy, look I… I mean- Jesus!" The opening of the door makes them both jump.

"You two better come get some food while it's still hot," Bobby lingers on the doorway for only a second before leaving the sitting and now dry faced Sam and standing and grimfaced Dean.

"Right," Sam says and gets up and he and Dean follow Bobby out of the room. Dean never got to finish his sentence but they both knew what he meant, they could hear it in the first word out of his mouth, and they both know that given the time he would have never finished the sentence anyway, but he tried, and they knew what it meant, and it would just have to be good enough for the both of them.

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_Told ya! Chick Flick! I will try to update in the next few days. Hopefully the next chapter will be longer and more interesting -Evil Grin-_


	4. Everything Go To The Devil 4

**Attention Everyone Who Adds This Story To Their Alerts Without Reviewing And Still Expects ME To Post More.**

Some authors, who are generally much better writers and a lot more gracious then me, thank people simply for reading, if not reviewing.

I Am Not One Of Those Authors.

If you need some reason to review then think of the fact that I work so hard on each and every chapter that by the time I'm finished _I HATE_ each and every chapter and post them just so I don't have to look at them anymore. You don't have to review every chapter (although it would make me very happy and post faster if you did) but people I need encouragement to keep this story going! Reviews make me want to work on the story and post as soon as I can!

It is hard work and I love reviews so much but I am getting so many people just adding to alerts, it's like when people kept adding Fifteen to their favorites without reviewing except slightly worse because there might be more people and it's less flattering.

It occurs to me that if I had as many reviews as I have had e-mails telling me someone has added this story to their alerts list I would be a very happy girl.

**To Everyone Else.**

Just so you all know this story is M from now on mostly just for a wee bit of langue and such.

If you are one of the people who actually reads the writing up here then congratulations! You made it to the end of my little speech! If you are one of the people who reviews then please, read on with my profound thanks! Please enjoy the next 1,545 words that have some how tumbled out of my brain and onto your screen (and mine), this chapter is about half a chapter longer then other ones (I know they're not long chapters,) because it might take me a bit longer to post.

I think I have a thing with Sam and food, and Dean and showers… ;)

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Red Herring 

_Any diversion intended to distract attention from the main issue._

_Part Four:_

_Everything Go To The Devil_

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_Fuck it hurts. He's on the floor of that goddamned shack with his own blood running down his chest and covering his hands. It's a sticky, filthy, dark red and it's pouring out over him and fuck it hurts. _

_It's laughing, he thought he was alone but it's got his father's body and it's in front of him and it's laughing. _

"_That really the best you can do?" It doesn't sound like his father, it's not John Winchester's voice or laugh, it's cold and harsh and amused and fuck it hurts._

_He's trying to breathe and his arms are clutching his sides but he's bleeding and it hurts so badly. _

"_He's gonna tear you apart."_

_God it hurts._

"_He's gonna taste the iron in your blood."_

_Blood._

_Everywhere._

_It hurts._

_God how it fucking hurts._

"_How would you feel if I killed your family?"_

_The body is gone but he can still see those yellow, yellow eyes on the inside of his eyelids._

"_Oh, that's right. I forgot. I did."_

_Fuck._

"_Still, two wrongs don't make a right."_

_He swore to God the fucking ground was bleeding, and he was sinking in the ugly mix of gravelly dirt and blood. And there were those eyes again, those big yellow eyes… _

"Shit!" He opened his eyes and saw daylight streaming through the window, it had to be about ten or eleven a.m. He rubbed his hands along his face tiredly, God, he hadn't had a nightmare in days, why the hell did it have to come back now?

He ran his hands over his chest next and was almost surprised to not find blood and pain. God, what a dream, the details were fading already but he did remember sharp, excruciating pain and blood, so much blood. He didn't know before now that it was even possible to feel so much pain, realistic pain, in a nightmare.

God, he was tired, that was possibly the worst thing about these goddamned nightmares, he was always so exhausted, so _drained_, after them.

He hauled himself into a sitting position and stared at the floor for a couple minutes, ignoring the dull pain in his chest.

Man, this whole shit since the demon attack was really killing him. The nightmares and phantom dream pain mixed with real ones from his bruised and cut chest were really starting to get to him.

Dad and Sam were in the kitchen by the time he finally made it out.

"Hey," Sam says softly when he sees Dean walk in.

"Dean." His father says simply and coolly, without even looking up over the newspaper he's reading.

Dean's only acknowledgement to either of them is an uncaring and vague grunt as he heads straight to the coffee pot without sparing a glance at anything or anyone.

It's only after his first swallow of hot strong black coffee that he bothers to pull his head up and look at his brother and father.

Sam is staring at his toast like it's the most interesting thing in the world, his mind obviously elsewhere.

John had a cup of coffee at his side and was apparently very interested in what he was reading in the paper, he was deliberately not looking at Dean.

Dean didn't know why but for some reason he was unreasonably pissed at his father.

He stood glaring slightly at John before grabbing his coffee and walking away down the hall so fast Sam jumped as he was knocked out of whatever toast related day dream he had been having and nearly spilled his orange juice. Jesus, that kid was jumpy lately.

He looks himself over in the mirror before getting in the shower. The scrapes and cuts on his arms are faded but not gone yet and the bruise on his right arm is barely visible, although it still hurts. He might have been looking better except for the dark circles under his eyes which had only gotten worse and made him look half beat to hell.

His chest was almost healed, which is why these pains phantom or not were strange and making wearily of doing anything to aggravate his chest.

He tried to remember his dream in the shower but all he could come up with was blood, pain and a whole lot of hurt. There was something about yellow eyes, maybe something to do with the demon? He supposed that would make sense, it was the demon who had ripped him apart after all, he thought a little unconvinced.

The Impala is still looking worse for wear but she's getting better, he's made a fair amount of progress on her this week and slowly she's beginning to look more and more like her former glory, there's only one problem… he keeps blacking out.

At first it was only little bits, he'd be thinking of going and getting the wrench, then, with no memory of the in-between, he'd be using the wrench. Then they started getting longer, like the first time it happened, when he found himself in a different part of the junkyard, and sometimes he didn't even notice. Strangely enough, for some reason he wasn't too worried by these 'black outs', and maybe that's what should be scaring him…

He gives up on the Impala after only a few hours work today, too tired of his chest feeling like it's gonna collapse in on him with every wrong move of his body, to tell the truth it hadn't hurt this bad since Sammy woke him up from his nightmare on their third day at Bobby's. He's also tired of feeling like he's standing in the middle of a stage, feeling eyes on his back every time he turns away, another thing that should worry him, but doesn't, that he should tell somebody, but he doesn't, he only finds it bothering and annoying.

He is starting to turn and walk away from his car when suddenly, in a flash he's pushed into the side of a near by wreck of a black truck, with its windows smashed in and all, he's pinned by an invisible force. He can feel the hard metal crushing into his back as the winds pick up and dust flies into the wayward air that's whirling around him. His throat goes dry and he can feel himself chocking up, his stomach feels like it has been ripped out from his body, and his chest feels just about ready to fall in on him with the pressure as a figure steps out of the haze of air and dirt. He sees the eyes before anything else, big yellow eyes, he wants to move, oh God how he wants to move, but he can feel its invisible power holding him in place, trapping him. In seconds the demon is face to face with him, pulling him up by his jacket collar, it makes red lines on the sides of his neck from the straining leather under the demon's grip, it's wearing a stranger's face but God, those eyes, and it's grinning at him…

"Howdy Dean-o, how ya been?"

His throat is working and his gut is churning, he thinks he's gonna throw up…

"Long time, no see. How goes the recovery? Hope my little nudge in the direction of health did some good, can't have Sammy spending all his time crying over his dead brother's cold corpse now, can we?"

His heart is thumping fast and loudly in his ears, he's chest feels like it's being smothered in a thick heavy lead blanket, it hurts so badly he can barely breathe…

"How is dear little Sammy, by the way? I haven't seen him for a while; maybe he needs a little visit, too? A little 'reminder'? You know I've really missed us being all together, except for poor Mommy and Jess, and you almost left us too, didn't you?" It smiles its wicked, devilish smile with its last words, a sick, smug sense of satisfaction clear in its voice. "Sorry about that, who knew you'd be so fun to tear apart? So easy to bleed?" Its self-satisfied smile broadens, its eyes searching his as it grabs his right arm just below the shoulder, fitting right into place with the faded bruising and tightening his grip until Dean has to shut his eyes and grimace to keep from crying out in pain. "In fact, why don't-"

"Dean? Dean!" Its little speech is abruptly cut off as Bobby calls his name through the junkyard, and as Dean turns he head in the direction of the sound he finds himself standing near the Impala, in the same spot he was standing in before the demon came, the dirt ground beneath his feet looking firmly settled and no trace of there ever having been anyone but himself there. He is breathing so fast and heavily he wants to scream from the pain his chest is bursting out with every breath, he nearly falls to his knees in agony but somehow manages to stay up right. Once he has his breathing under control and the fire in his chest has backed down slightly he shakes his head to try and clear it just as Bobby rounds a corner and calls out to him.

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Next chapter as soon as I can ;) 


	5. Author Note 1

**IMPORTANT:**

**Okay people this is not an update.**

**The computer that I store all my writing on has crapped out.**

**I'm desperately hoping that I can get it to work since I don't have any copies.**

**So right now I'm praying to anyone or thing, God, Buda, Sponge Bob, anyone!**

**I should know by tonight or tomorrow if it will work again, but if it doesn't I've lost a lot of work and unfinished chapter (I think I'd cry) and I don't know that I'll be able to continue the story if I have lost them, so wish me luck, I'll need it.**

**Anna**

**MBCT**

**P.S. Thank you to all the reviewers, you guys made me so happy! I was terrified of coming off like a bitch or really demanding, so thanks for all the understanding and niceness. I'll let you all know if it works out, and I'll try really hard to get some chapters out if it does.**

**_Thanks_**

**_Anna_**


	6. Author Note 2

**WARNING:** **_Language Ahead_**

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Fucking, Fucker, Son of a Bitch! Frigging Fuck it! 

I warned you…

I Am Totally Screwed.

My _**BITCH**_ computer is not going to work for me. I've sent it away to my brother who is great with computers but the outcome doesn't look good.

This really sucks since I lost not only the next few uncompleted chapters to this story and my favorite bit of this story which I don't think I could ever write quite the same again and a different story that I was thinking of posting after this one (I had about four chapters worth of it) and it means that I haven't had the time to write out this idea I had for Red Herring that I think you would all like. I'm also using a different computer, which is really crappy.

In other words, I Am So, So, So, Screwed.

But, the show must go on! I know I'm kinda flaky and I don't really stick to things that well but I promised I'd finish this story and DAMMIT, I'm going to finish this goddamned story!

It really sucked because I've had a pretty shit year and I mostly write to get away from it all, so, being a fourteen year old who swears a lot you can guess my reaction. ;)

But I will try my hardest to get a chapter out soon.

I WON'T leave the story hanging.

Hopefully I'll be able to update soon.

Anna

MBCT

P.S. Thank you everyone for the support, you guys are the reason I'm gonna finish this goddamned story :-)

_Thanks_

_Anna_


	7. Everything Go To The Devil 5

IMPORTANT: This **IS** an update! Yay! 

Hello! I'm back again! Sorry it has taken me so long but it is summer in my country and I've been swept away in BBQ after BBQ and a wedding or two as well.

Yes, I'm back in black! Sorry, couldn't help myself ;)

Once again a M rated chapter for language, and I disclaim, I don't own nothin' ;)

**Important To The Story**: Alright, it's time to sink or swim for this story. I have managed to work up another 3,290 words (Dear God, I don't know how it got up to that many numbers!) however I don't know if it will fit in with the published chapters now that I've had to rewrite so much, in other words I don't know if you guys will still like this story or not. Sink or Swim?

**So I Need You Guys To Tell Me If I Should Keep Writing This.**

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****

Red Herring

Something that draws attention away from the central issue.

Part Five:

Everything Go To The Devil. 

* * *

"Dean, there you are! Why the hell didn't you answer me?" Bobby yells walking up to him, looking equally relieved and pissed off at the same time.

"Sorry Bobby, guess I didn't hear you." Dean states rather lamely, trying to hide the fact that he's still trying to catch his breath, still trying to figure out what's real.

"Didn't hear me?" Bobby says incredulously, staring at the wild eyed young hunter, noticing how his chest is heaving with laboured breaths. "Dean, I was shouting half the yard down." Bobby's really worried by now and Dean wants nothing more then to run and hide like a five year old and try to figure out what the hell is going on by himself.

"Sorry," Dean repeats after a moment, gathering the very little that's left of his composure and steeling himself against breaking down. "I guess I was too busy to take notice." He says it with a finality he didn't even know he could muster and changes the subject. "What the hell are you doing out here anyway? You don't have any work to do around here today."

The question and sudden change of tact throws the older man, "I- uh…" Bobby tries to think of something to say, a nervous look in his eye saying that he's frantically trying to cover something up. Dean looks at him for a minute, his mind easily distracted from the action of only moments before by trying to place the look on Bobby's face with some vaguely coherent fact.

"Bobby," Dean says darkly, a look of dawning comprehension on his face. "If you didn't have anything to tell me then why the hell were you calling me? Why the hell are you out here?"

Bobby sighs, "Look, I came out here and I couldn't see you, alright, and when I did you were just standing there, staring at the dirt, white as a sheet. Don't get angry, okay? We're worried about you is all."

"We? As in you and Sam? As in you and Sam coming out here to spy on me?" He bit out, rage bubbling to the surface with a ferocity and vehemence that shouldn't really be there.

"Dean," Bobby drags the name out slowly in a low calming voice only he would dare use on a pissed off Winchester, but Dean's already passed the point of being able to calm down.

"Son of a Bitch!" He shouts and starts towards the house in fast furious strides.

Once he's inside the house he walks straight passed his father without even trying to acknowledge the man, instead he grabs a hold of his brother, who looks in mid argument with John, by the arm and half pulls half drags him down the hall without pausing once since entering the door or uttering a single word to anyone.

He slams the door to their room shut behind them and shoves Sam roughly onto a bed and out of his way as he starts pacing back and forth.

"Sam," He says in a low deadly voice that would make anyone but Sam run for their lives. "I'm gonna ask you something and I want you to tell me the truth, okay?"

Sam nods, a little perplexed with no idea what his brother is on about and indignantly pulls himself into a sitting position with a slightly annoyed huff.

"Did you send Bobby out to spy on me?" Dean's tone of voice is still dangerously low.

Sam clears his throat, "Look, Dean…" He falters under his brother's gaze, "I mean…" He trails off.

Dean has had enough of Sam's hesitating and stops pacing to stand directly in front of his brother, "I said, _Sam_," He emphasizes the name in that pissed off scathing way he always does when he's really mad at Sam, the way that makes Sam actually miss Dean calling him 'Sammy'. "Are you fucking spying on me?!" Dean yells the last part with the venom of betrayal in his voice, and Sam knows that's what Dean feels this is: Betrayal.

They stare hard at each other for a minute, a strange sort of power play, until Sam finally looks down at the pea green colored carpet underneath his shoes.

Most people would be scared for their lives by now but Sam just has a funny look on his face, not scared but maybe a little hurt. "Yes, alright? Yes." Dean is positively murderous at this point but Sam continues anyway, "I just wanted to make sure you were okay. Anything could happen out there and we wouldn't know, I mean, after the other night…" Dean looks away, "I'm worried about you! You're not fully healed; you still need to recover properly!" He says in a last ditch attempt for common ground with his brother.

He sees it isn't gonna work when Dean starts pacing and yelling again, the mention of his little night time wander fuelling the fire with a dose of fear, anger and confusion . "I'm fine, Sam! You're the only one who seems to have a problem! I'm injured, not mentally retarded! I promise I'll call you if I accidentally cut my fucking foot off!" He says sarcastically and turns his back on Sam as he walks towards the door, with his hand on the doorknob he turns halfway back in Sam's direction and throws over his shoulder with more bitter sarcasm, "Now I'm gonna go have a drink, I'll try not to get lost on the fucking way."

And with that he's out of the room, he slams the door behind him but Sam can still hear the curse of 'Jesus Christ.' he murmurs out in the hall.

Sam just sits on the bed Dean shoved him on, staring at his fingers on the blanket as he hears Dean's footsteps dying away. He had known Dean would be mad when he had started checking up on him, he had known that Dean would find out and be rightfully angry, but he had never imagined his brother would be so furious, and now he wondered yet again what the hell was going on with Dean and why everyone else refused to see that there was something so wrong happening with his older brother.

_SPN_

Dean felt a debilitating mixture of anger and remorse all adding to a sense of guilt and self-loathing. In truth he was pissed at Sam, but he wasn't that pissed, the kid was only doing what he thought was right and Dean had vocally smacked him in the face for it. He felt bad, after all, it wasn't Sam's fault he was going crazy.

He wanted to put his head in his hands, his back to the wall and slide down to the ground, he wanted to cry, he wanted to scream, and most of all he wanted answers. Was he going fucking nuts? It was sure as hell a possibility. Could anyone honestly blame him for losing his mind? After everything he's seen? God… after everything he's done?

There was no way in hell the Demon could have waltzed right onto Bobby's land and into the junkyard just to fuck with his head, Bobby would have seen it if it had been there. Hell, maybe he was still at the hospital in a coma, and this was just some weird ass game his mind had come up with to mess with him, after all the doctors had said his survival was a miracle, and if anybody would know a Winchester would that miracles don't happen to people like them. God, could this all be some sadistic dream? He pinched himself and it felt real enough, then again, so did his nightmares. The only way to wake up for certain when you're dreaming is to die, and he wasn't going to risk dying on a possibility. He didn't know what to do or how to feel, so he chose not to feel, which was why he was gonna go get completely drunk.

He walked straight passed John and Bobby who were sitting silently together in the kitchen, obviously finally cottoning on to Sam's idea that there was something not right going on, especially since the walls are thin and he had been yelling pretty loud.

He ignored both men's stares as he walked right through to the doorstep, grabbing his jacket on the way and setting out into the coming night. The sun was setting and it would be well and truly dark soon, there was a cool wind whipping through the air, making the night cold when the day had been hot. John grabbed his arm as he was walking out and he barely controlled himself from screaming as the older hunter unknowingly put pressure on Dean's now viciously bruised arm.

"Dean, where the hell do you think you're going? What the fuck were you and Sam fighting about?" John growled, sick and tired of feeling guilty and like he didn't know his own sons.

"I'm going out and it's none of your fucking business, go ask Sam if you really wanna know." Then he painfully pulled out of his father's grip and stalked off before the older man could get him back.

John looked for a moment like he wanted to take charge and put the boy through the hardest training he could think of until the impulsive hothead that was his eldest would come to his senses and just tell his father what the hell was going on. John probably would have put the kid through the ringer if he didn't have this damn lingering sense of culpability to deal with. Later on he'll remember this moment and wish he had just made Dean tell him the goddamn truth, known that if he had it could have spared them all what came later, but instead he goes back inside, slamming the door shut behind him, making the whole doorframe rattle.

_SPN_

Dean walked out to one of the old pickups out front and hotwired it, figuring Bobby would forgive him eventually, and drove to a local bar. It felt good to drive, it may not have been the Impala but it gave him something to concentrate on, something to be doing rather then think of the impossible situation he had somehow gotten himself into.

He spent the next couple of hours drinking whiskey in some tiny filthy bar on the edge of the nearest town trying to forget his reason for coming there in the first place. He spent some time with a pretty brunette he promised to call but never would and probably wouldn't remember in the morning, he was doing alright until he started finding it hard to see straight and suddenly the world just wouldn't stop moving and it was starting to make him feel sick. He had been too busy flirting with the busty brunette to notice when the barman had slipped something into his drink…

He stays still in his seat, trying to make his vision do the same, but it isn't working. He can feel the drug pumping around his system, blinding his senses. Even if he didn't know what he had been drugged with he knew what was happening and an urgency grasped at his slowly drowning thoughts, his awareness fading as surely as if he himself were sinking in a thick unfathomable mud, it was like an eerily familiar nightmare.

He tumbles off his seat and stumbles out to the pickup truck, only just keeping his balance as he moves with the most swiftness he can manage. He opens the door to get in but a rough hand pulls him down, once again grabbing his now fairly injured right arm, pain and instability would have made him fall if the stranger with the yellow eyes hadn't kept him standing upright with the hand on his arm that was now burning in a sickeningly agonizing way, the Demon knows this weakness and uses it to its full advantage.

Dean backs away into the truck, hitting his head, "I don't wanna talk to you! 'Sides, I won't 'member it will I?" He drunkenly slurs, sounding like a sullen child. His head was throbbing and he could feel the world tilting dangerously under his feet as the unknown drug started to take full affect, pulling him towards unconsciousness. He mutters something inaudible under his breath involving the words 'Bastard, sona bitch.' As he sourly thinks that just maybe leaving Bobby's to go get smashed wasn't his smartest idea.

"Oh come now, Dean, don't hurt my feelings." It coos in an almost paternal way, paternal except for the glint of tooth in his smile like a shark closing in on its prey, its golden eyes hiding no small amount of malice.

Dean's turns his head away, ignoring the Demon, his stomach contents trying to fight their way up his throat.

"Come on, Dean-o, don't be mad. I though we had made some progress here? Your attitude is really going to need to improve if we're going to work together."

"Ain't doin' nothin' with you," Dean says in an immature protest, barely conscious, breathing slower than he would have if he could have controlled it.

The Demon reaches out and takes Dean's face in his hands, forcing the younger Winchester to look into his eyes, "Don't make me angry, Dean," It warns him with a rigid edge to its voice, "I've got work to do."

_SPN_

The next few hours are a blur of indistinguishable shapes moving far too fast for his liking and indefinable scenery. Words passing his lips but going unheard by his own ears because he can't hear anything over the heavy pounding in his head, his body working deceptively against him.

He thinks he sees trees, maybe he's in the in some sort of woods, words are spoken to him and around him, he hazily sees them rather then hears them, he sees something he's pretty sure is sticky red blood coming from somewhere…

There's a fire, he thinks there must be a fire, then pain and he thinks somebody is screaming… it could be him, he wouldn't know. Then more words, he vaguely hears some harsh and demanding words, he doesn't even think they're in English… then again they could be, but he thinks they must be Latin and he just can't seem to figure out what exactly they mean.

Then there's a truck, he didn't remember it before but now he definitely hears a truck, he knows he does because he's moving, he can feel something moving, but his body isn't, more words, yellow eyes then thankfully everything stops, fades to black, silent and peaceful.

And the next thing Dean knows he's still drunk only now he's in the truck, and the truck is outside Bobby's house, and he doesn't remember a single thing since deciding to leave the bar.

He hauls himself out of the driver's seat and out of the pickup but loses his balance and falls flat on his face on the grass outside.

He groans heavily and picks himself up; he walks in the door and firmly ignores Sam, John and Bobby who all watch him intently as he walks in, Sam doing so with a lot of hurt in his eyes that also indicates he wants to throttle Dean.

Dean just keeps walking, or more like stumbling, and finally crashes down on his bed, falling asleep fully clothed on top of the covers within seconds.

**_SPN_**

He watches the Winchester boy go limp in his arms after a weak and pitiful struggle.

The drug is a special mix, a very strong special blend of a couple of the human drugs with some demonic elements mixed in. The unique components designed to incapacitate, immobilise and disorientate but leave the target conscious for the most part, he needed the boy conscious but not struggling. The dosage would eventually exit the same way it entered painfully in a couple of hours, after it had done its important job. All of this being very crucial to his plan… it was all about timing, if he was going to have his way, and he would have his way, the timing had to be perfect.

It's a strange flaw in human nature that they all seem to rather believe themselves insane then accept a scarier truth, some of them wouldn't even truly believe in your existence until the very second before you snap their necks. The look of horror in their eyes showing that the realisation only came to them in their last second of life, the exception of this rule being, of course, hunters. And weren't those little bastards irritating, the Winchesters in particular always grating on his nerves; they wouldn't even let you carry out a proper possession for God's sake! That would change though; he'd make sure of that, everything would be changing soon.

It all came down to those boys. He wanted Sam for his ultimate plan, Sam was special, he had always known that, Winchester had known that, it had been clear from the start. The older boy in his mind had always been expendable, he had been more then willing to kill Dean Winchester in the past but his own failure in that old hunting shack had given him a new perspective. The younger one was still his main focus but he saw now that the eldest had potential too, not the same potential for greatness that Sam had but he was usable, even necessary in his new plans. What really got him though was the irony that Winchester had been the one to give the older boy the potential he now saw in Dean, and it would be from there that their downfall began. His plans were in action and all he had to do is let the Winchesters play their parts.

**_SPN_**

He dreams of the night his mother died, of fire and burning and holding baby Sammy in his arms, and finally he wakes feeling nauseous just as Sam is dozing off in his own bed.

He barely makes it to the bathroom before throwing up in the toilet excruciatingly for fifteen minutes, his throat feels raw and striped when he finally stops and his stomach is painfully clenched against the convulsions and all he wants to do is sleep and stop the pain keeping him on the cool floor incapable of moving.

He doesn't think he will be able to get back to his bed until Sam suddenly sits next to him on the floor and hands him a damp cloth and glass of water.

Once he's sure he's not gonna puke again Sam half walks half drags him back to his bed, then pulls off the shoes he never bothered with and pulls the blankets over him.

Sam is turning to go when Dean scrappily grabs at Sam's arm and drunkenly mutters at him, half asleep, "Sorry Sammy, good brother, didn' mean it." Dean's eyes imploring Sam's forgiveness even if he's so drunk and exhausted he doesn't even know what's going on anymore. "Sorry Sammy." He mutters louder.

Sam swallows a lump in his throat before whispering, "It's okay, Dean, I know." Dean is pretty much asleep by now and simply mumbles incoherently and turns on his side.

Sam turns off the light and lies down on his own bed, knowing that whatever his brother or even he might say they still had each other to count on, to watch each other's backs through hell or high water, and Sam would be damned if he was gonna failed his brother now. He was gonna figure this thing out and nothing was gonna stop him.


	8. Give The Devil His Due 6

__

Hmmmmmmmm, what to say, what to say… How about ummm, I'M SORRY! I'm sorry, and uhh, I'm SORRY!

SORRY! Sorry! Sorry! Sorry! I've been a really crappy author I feel really bad for leaving it so long and for how I used to talk to you guys, you're all amazingly awesome by the way. Anyway last year was one of the worst years of my life, a close loved one died, and I don't think I was really ready for a story this big then, but hey! I'm fifteen now, yay me, I had a birthday, so hopefully it will go better this time :D

On another note, I used to go by my middle name (Anna) but now I'm using my first name (Ella), also I changed my pen name to DangerousDiamondDarling.

Thanks to Lost-Remembrance for making sure I remembered this fic :D

A giant thanks to Sarah for being beta for this fic, I don't think I would have gotten around to posting this chapter without her help :D

Hope you guys like it :D

Ella

* * *

**_Red Herring_**

_Something that draws attention away from the central issue._

_Part Six:_

_**Give The Devil His Due.**_

* * *

_Fire…  
Flames…  
Burning…  
Heat…  
Blood…  
Pain…  
Agony…  
Hell.  
His skin was crawling, agony was ripping through his body, everything was twisting and melting in the heat, the fire.  
A twisting torrent of flames was circling around them, threatening to envelop them at any moment, he was terrified but the demon itself didn't seem to give a damn about their impending demise.  
He was kneeling at its feet, blood dripping down his face in a hopeless, frantic manner, sliding down his neck to meet the pool that was flooding from his abdomen, his entire chest soaked in the dark sticky crimson._

_The demon was remorselessly pacing around in front of him, wearing John's body like he owned it, "I'm giving you one more chance, Dean. Where is it?"_

_When he didn't answer the demon stopped and glared callously at hm. With a merciless flash of his eyes Dean was rolling on the floor in agony. _

_"You know I really hate doing this…" it said flashing a wicked grin as Dean began moaning and trying to pick himself up from the floor "Okay, I'm lying, I'm enjoying this… but still, I like you Dean. You've got potential … I really would hate to **waste** it." It said throwing his words back at him with a deadly smirk._

_Dean paused on his hands and knees and managed to get out between hacking coughs, blood spilling out his mouth, "Screw you…"_

_The demon knelt down in front of him and pulled him up to his knees, turning Dean's face towards him, it sighed, "I wish you wouldn't be that way, after all, I am the only one who seems to give a damn about your future, our future. You could be dead now if it weren't for me." It pointed out._

_"Because of you" Dean spat out._

_The demon stifled another sigh and put a hand on Dean's shoulder, almost like a father to a wayward son who just wouldn't understand, "They don't care about you, Dean, they don't give a damn. Sammy, John, they won't help you, they never have, and why should they? Why should they spend their precious time worrying about some broken wreck of a man? You're damaged Dean, deeply. Far more then they'd care to even know, and I'm the only one, it seems, who's even bothered whether you live or die,"_

_The storming fire flared-up behind them and Dean felt sure they were both about to die… at least that bastard would go with him, was his only coherent thought. "Why don't you think about that and tell me who you really think you should trust?" It finished with a smile on its face just as the violent, raging, circling fire exploded inwards…_

He woke rolling on the floor clutching his head in his hands.  
It was pounding out a thumping rhythm starting at the point where his head had smashed into the draws beside his bed when he had rolled off it in his sleep. He waited for the agony to subside slightly before slowly picking himself up. Ignoring the dull nausea that stayed with him from the night before, he glanced at the form of his sleeping brother draped across the bed on the other side of the room; legs sprawled at awkward angles, an arm dangling over the edge, blanks thrown in undignified piles on the floor and sheets doing a fairly good job of being impromptu straight jackets, trying both to accommodate his little brother's strange unconscious activities and desperately trying to keep the slumbering sasquatch off of the floor.

He marveled at the fact the kid was still asleep after all the noise of his three foot skydive, followed cursing coupled with the kid's own natural restlessness…it was pretty damn amazing.  
He fumbled his way down the hallway in the low light of the early morning sky, the grayish dark blue filtering in through the odd window or two as he entered the kitchen.

It took two full glasses of cold water before he began to feel even slightly better. The coolness of the water soothing his dry throat and cracked lips, making him feel more whole; more real. He didn't know how dreams he couldn't even properly remember could make him feel so awful. He didn't remember the latest dream anymore then he had the last couple, and he supposed that made sense in some small way, dreams fade from your mind before you're conscious enough to really register the events that have taken place in them, but nightmares usually hang around his head for a hell of a lot longer and are usually a hell of a lot more vivid. He'd had nightmares before but these just seem different even if he couldn't remember why…and they leave one hell of a bitter taste in his mouth and mind.

His head still pounded in a rhythm all its own, partly from his hang over and partly from hitting it. He bites his lip and leans for a moment against the counter top trying to drag up any memory, any shred of information from the depths of his mind, and for a moment he feels it, remembers…

_  
Remembers plans being spoken to him but not heard, remembers the pain of a strong hand wrapping around his shoulder and crushing the hell the out of it for the what seems like the first time, remembers a strange sense of drifting in and out of consciousness and rationality, remember the sounds and smells of the woods…_

Then the moment is gone and he is left even more confused than before, wishing he could just get his head screwed back on right so everything would just quit moving and fall into place. The only thing he can feel now is his own clothes clinging to his sweat covered body and he shudders involuntarily at the feel of it…it feels sticky and hot just like blood.

Resisting the urge to grab another glass of water to throw on his head he grabs a couple of aspirin and downs them with a little more water instead. God, his head feels awful. He leaned against bench waiting for the pills to kick in when he heard someone else stumbling down the hall slowly and warily, sounding heavy in a way that has nothing to do with physical weight.

John Winchester's eyes slowly lifted to meet his son's startled gaze that mirror his own look of surprise. "Dad," He whispered, shocked by the sudden appearance of his father although it really shouldn't have been too surprising since they have been living in the same house for over a week.

"Dean," John whispered back quite astonished and still trying to get over his own bewilderment at seeing his eldest son up and about and looking like he'd already gone twelve rounds in the ring before breakfast and before he himself had had enough coffee to be able to deal with it, "What the hell are you doing up at 4:30 in the morning?"

Of course there was a rather simple reason his son would be looking as pale as a ghost and like he was about to hurl his guts out all over the sink before five am, but he wasn't about to come out and say anything directly about it until at least after six am and at least two cups of coffee.

"I couldn't sleep," He ignores the baiting tone in his father's voice and the undercurrent in the man's deep brown eyes that added the words '_too hung over_' to what had already been said, his dad knows how badly his body can react to a bad hangover.

He felt strange under the scrutiny, it had been so long since it had just been the two of them like it used to be on the road after Sam left for Stanford but before they started splitting up practically every other major hunt. It felt even weirder now after the demon possession to be so close, and yet so far apart at the same time to someone in his own family…after everything they had all been through in the last twenty-two years .It felt odd, just odd. He was glad for the low lighting in room, the lights switched off but just enough early morning light to see by coming in the windows, hiding the fact that he felt a hell of a lot worse then just a normal hang over and probably looked it too.

"Right," John says with a disbelieving note in his voice after a minute when Dean doesn't add anything more.  
Both men were silent as John went about making coffee, busying his hands and mind, lowering his eyes so he wouldn't have to look at his son. God he remembered the times when he used to hold both his sons in his arms and make everything better, everything safe. Hell he remembers a much closer time when he could at least have them joking and laughing even if it was just for a moment. Even just a year before he could at least still hear some smartass comment from Dean even when the kid knew he'd get reprimanded for it, even when they both knew they were better off for some small semblance of lightness in the air… God he missed that.

Dean stood to the side of his father, leaning against the bench and looking out the window in an uncomfortable silence. Great, now he was stealing Sam's Emo Eyes, staring out the window and into the distance deal, just freaking great. John took his own cup of coffee and handed Dean one, they both stood awkwardly fingering their mugs, forging interest in their coffees.

Eventually John cleared his throat and asked with difficulty, "Dean, are you… you know… okay?" it was a question he hadn't asked in a long, long time; not about feelings, not in the years following Mary's death, or very, very rarely after a bad hunt when Dean was younger. The words felt thick and heavy and wrong on his tongue, like it wasn't something he should be asking…it was something obvious that he should already know and have every little detail figured out by now.

Dean looked up from his cup to his father who was staring at his feet. When had the room gotten so small? Why were they standing so goddamn close? God, he felt trapped. He was suddenly hit by a barrage of memories;_ his father so close, forcing him to look into yellow, yellow eyes, spitting words of malice and hate at him. Cruel words that whirled around his head, and God, he should have known sooner, should have done something, anything. Then pain, blinding god awful pain, he was looking at his father's face, his own Goddamned father's face, full of malevolence as blood poured out his chest at a ghastly rate, begging, pleading, because it hurt so Goddamn much… So much blood… So much pain… He just wanted it to be over. He wanted it to end and he didn't care about the out come as long as it ended._

He snapped back to reality and quickly murmured, "I'm fine." His trip down memory lane had only been a couple seconds so his answer wasn't too slow but it was a little quiet.

John watched slightly stunned as his eldest took one last glance at his father's face and turned away walking down the hallway and throwing a vague "Gonna take a shower," over his shoulder. And he thought that maybe Sammy was right… Maybe there really was something wrong with Dean, there was a least something bothering him about the way his son was acting and what bothered him more was the strange feeling he was getting in his gut, the feeling that he had just blown a very important opportunity and would pay dearly for it later.  
_  
_Dean hurried away from his dad, chest constricting painfully from an emotion he never thought he would get from seeing his father's face or hearing his voice: Fear.  
He enters the bathroom and slams the door quickly behind him, leaving his coffee on the bathroom counter he turns the shower on, then quickly turns back to the door, locking it and putting his back to it as he slowly slides to the floor, tears building in his eyes. Hanging his head in complete hopelessness, a sob catches in his throat as he tries hard to keep his breathing under control and fails miserably, because God, this can't be happening, he couldn't be afraid of his own father…

He cries for a couple minutes, desperately trying to force fear and memories out of his mind and trying to control his sporadic breathing. After a few minutes, once he's finally able to stop the flow of tears and his breathing has calmed down and his mind has entered into a deeply detached state, he slowly pulls himself up to his feet and takes his shirt off. The bruising on his right arm is back and worse then ever, it's a deep violent purple and hurts like hell. He stares at his arm in disgust for a while trying to make sense of the bruised flesh. He can't so he sighs to himself and looks in the mirror steeling himself for the dark purple under his eyes, the harsh bruising on his arm made to look worse against his pale pallor, the thin red scratch marks and now the hazy muddled hung over look on his face, what he sees staring back at him is much more worse.

Everything is exactly as he expected, he looks like hell itself, but it's all still him; his face, his chest, his scars, his mouth, his ears, his hair, but when he looks in the mirror, for a flash of a second when he looks up from the basin and into the reflection of his own body, the eyes aren't his.

Ghastly golden yellow eyes stare back at him from the mirror, his own eyes, for the briefest moment, the brilliant yellow of the Demon's. The sight floods him with shock and disbelief, he stumbles back hitting the wall and flailing to the floor. He scrambles back into the corner furthest from the mirror, panic and fear flooring him. His breathing starts getting way too fast and he feels like the room has been sucked of all the air, and he's breathing but he can't breathe. He tries to calm himself down, tells himself it was a trick of the light, or more likely, his tired mind He anxiously pulls himself to his feet and makes slow teetering steps towards the mirror, the cool glass reflecting only his own body, his hazy green eyes staring fearfully back at him.

He nearly storms out and tells Sam everything he knows right then and there but he doesn't. Feelings so strong it almost like an invisible wall stops him, because it's that damn fear of his playing up again and what if he's crazy? Even worse, what if Sam thinks he's crazy? What does he really have to prove anything at all is amiss except for a bruise, a couple of scabs, and his own loony imagination? Nothing. Nothing but a few damn feelings and not quite there memories, along with a couple of jumbled mixed up dreams he just can't put into place. And he thinks that he can't live like this; it has got to stop even if he has to find out whatever it is and end it himself because he will not, can not go on like this. He'll finish it, he'll fix it, he has to.


	9. Give The Devil His Due 7

_Hey everyone :D Here is the next update :D I hope you like it :D_

_Thank you heaps and heaps to Sarah and my reviewers, you guys are great! :D_

_Sorry but the next one might take me a little bit longer, my time is spread a little thin at the moment but I'll try to make it as quick as I can :D And I won't keep you waiting forever this time ;D_

_Enjoy :D_

_Ella_

* * *

**_Red Herring_**

_Something that draws attention away from the central issue._

_Part Seven:_

_**Give The Devil His Due.**_

* * *

It's an ear-splitting sound he's making and it's obviously getting to everyone in the room…which is good, they deserve it, stupid stubborn old bastards. Unfortunately everyone in the room includes him.

But he can't help himself; and before he knows it he's doing it again. Any dentist would probably be horrified at the harsh grinding of teeth he currently can't stop himself from doing but goddamn it he did **not **come back to be his father's damn research boy. He wasn't five anymore! He didn't need his dad's approval to be doing his own research (on demon attacks and anything about residual effects) instead of trying to figure out if a ghost was currently haunting one of Bobby's local friends.

"It's not your decision, Sam! And that's final. Me and Bobby are gonna go scout the place out, and you better have something real to tell us about this kind of spirit by then." And with those soothing words John Winchester is headed out to follow his friend. "Keep an eye on your brother." He adds as an after thought, a grim expression on his face and he's all too aware of how many times he's said the same thing to his eldest son, feeling extremely odd saying it to his youngest.

Then the door bangs shut behind him and it truly is a wonder the damn thing is still on its hinges after all this. He's long gone before Sam can throw a smart mouthed reply at him, but he knows Sam will still look out for Dean without him saying so; they are brothers.

After all this they wanted to go on a hunt? Some days he remembers just how easy it was to get so angry with his father. Of course they aren't the ones who are really worried about Dean, they aren't the ones who got yelled at yesterday, and yes he had forgiven Dean's out burst but it still stung a little.

He had managed to convince them that there was something off with Dean but they weren't thinking along the same lines as him. They thought it was something to do with some leftover feeling from that night, but Sam was thinking something more along the supernatural lines. After spending a year once again in his brother's company he felt sure this really wasn't normal for Dean and Bobby and John were somewhat out of date on how things normally worked between the two boys.

Sam had seen Dean around today but hadn't really spoken to him, getting the distinct impression from the older hunter that he's avoiding them all; sneaking around looking like he's been doing a little research of his own.

That is why it truly amazes Sam when Dean dumps himself into a chair and plonks his arms and head down on the table just as Sam starts to serve dinner, John and Bobby having gone out for a couple hours to stake out the surroundings of the alleged haunted house. It's just the two of them.

"Long day?" He asks, and receives only a muffled grunt from somewhere on the tabletop. Dean's shoulders are tense from hours of book searching and walking around the yard trying to figure out some sort of pattern of truth to the mysterious black outs and dreams, and of course from the pure tension in the house; but he's obviously much more relaxed then he was mere hours before, if still slightly frustrated.

Dean groans as Sam puts a plate of food right before his nose. He lifts his head slightly to eye the offering, looking half like he wants to start stuffing his face with it and half like he wants to throw up from the smell of real food alone. Eventually hunger wins out over nausea and he starts shoveling it into his mouth like he hasn't eaten in weeks.

"Hungry then I take it?" Sam continues his mostly one-sided conversation and Dean just makes a noise somewhere in his throat through a mouthful of food, sounding somewhat affirmative.

"Beer?" He asks and passes one over before Dean's has a chance to answer with a grunt or more.

It's seems almost strange now, the two of them, sitting and having dinner without the presence of their father or Uncle Bobby. They've been doing exactly this for the past year now, but a few weeks without it and some odd behavior from everyone concerned and it just feels bizarre.

"So, are you actually going to talk to me today?" Sam asks as Dean takes a long swig of beer.

"Look man, I'm sorry about the other day." Dean rests his eyes on his bottle and away from his brother.

"I know. It's just not like you to get so mad, or be so quiet." Sam's not quite sure what's been worse, the unusual anger or the even more unusual silence. Dean just stares at him for a minute so Sam goes straight to the point, "What were you doing today?"

"Nothing." Dean says after a pause with finality to his voice that says it's not 'nothing' it's just none of Sam's business.

"What the hell is going on, Dean?" Sam says firmly, giving Dean the look that says hell is going to freeze over before Sam let's up on this.

Unfortunately right at the moment when Dean looks like he's about let up and give his brother a chance to help, their dad and Bobby come barging in disrupting the moment. Dean clung to the distraction like a drowning man would a life preserver.

"Dad, Bobby, didn't think you'd be back this early. Ah, well I'm a bit tired, I'm gonna hit the sack. Bye." Dean practically scrambles out the room, Sam, after a small glare at the two bewildered older men and muttering about stupid old hunters, hastens after Dean calling out his name.

"What in the world was that about?" A wide eyed Bobby asks the other hunter as he heads for the liquor cabinet after Sam storms past them glaring and running after his older brother.

John groans and sinks into a chair opposite to where his friend is now sitting. "I don't have a damn clue," he sighs and rubs a weary hand over his eyes, "God, this was so much easier when they were kids. A pat on the back and everything was fine again, and they'd never talk to ya like that, always had a smart mouth but he'd never talk to me like that before. Where'd it all go, Bobby? How'd things get this bad? Why can't I just fix things between us? Undo what happened." It's almost eleven p.m. the stars are shining, the moon is out, and Dean has been avoiding him all day. Sam on the other hand has making his presence well known; sometimes his youngest could be a real pain in the ass.

Bobby leans back in his chair and cracks open a bottle of Jack to hand to his friend, "'Cos life ain't that simple Johnny boy, and no matter how it might seem it never really has been. You still got your sons, and believe me they still need their Daddy, ya just gotta work on it is all."

"And what exactly am I supposed to say? Sorry boys, I know Dad's been gone for the last year or so, even when you needed me, and then came back just to get possessed and cut one of you open," He stopped to take a swig of the whiskey Bobby handed him, "and nearly bleed you out but I'm better now, so sorry and let's say you just forgive me and trust me and give dear ol' Dad a hug?"

Bobby chuckles, "Well you got the apologizing thing right, and a little communication wouldn't be the end of the world, but maybe you ought to work on what you plan on saying to these boys. You say that and I might have to pull a shotgun on the lot of ya just to keep you Winchester boys from spillin' blood all over my house."

"Shut up, Bobby." John groans and throws the nearest book in the direction of his friend's face. Bobby laughs harder as the book is deflected by his arm and lands with a smack on his knee.

It's about another hour or two of whiskey drinking and reminiscing before they hear it, Sam's shout for help, before they go barging into the boys' room shotguns in hand, facing the unknown with their full force.SPN

"Not gonna happen, Sam." Dean is saying half an hour later when he's lying in bed in a T-shirt and his boxer with the light out, Sam still not leaving him alone.

"Why can't you just tell me what's bothering you?" Sam speaks from his own bed, extremely frustrated that he hasn't managed to get Dean to open up at all yet.

"Because I say so." Dean lamely defends his choice of silence on the subject.

"After everything we've been through this year together 'because I said so' isn't gonna cut it." Sam says honestly to his brother.

"It's nothing." Dean says, trying to end the conversation, but Sam knows whatever this is it's affecting his brother deeply.

"Dean, don't give me this crap, I know something's up and I'm not gonna stop 'til you tell me what it is." Sam says but Dean just turns away from him and buries his head in his pillow, so Sam asks the question he really doesn't want to, he asks about the one real theory he has about his brother's behavior. "Dean, does this have anything to do with the Demon?"

Dean looks over to Sam again, "Sammy, please just leave it alone…"  
Sam knows he's right, this has something to do the yellow eyed demon, but he also knows Dean's defenses are crumbling, and pushing his brother into revealing something he doesn't want to when his defenses are weakened isn't going to help matters.

"Alright," he says, "For now at least." He agrees, sensing that Dean needs him to let it go for now.

"Goodnight, Dean." He says after a few moments silence in the darkness.

"'Night, Sammy." Dean replies thankful for his little brother's brief reprieve. He hadn't found much out today but he did know this, he might be going crazy but he didn't think it was completely him. He had gone through book after book on demonic dreams, herbs that can play tricks on your mind, hurt you in your sleep, and how spirits can mentally mess with even the best hunters, whatever was going on with his brain he didn't think it was doing it all by itself.

_**SPN**_

It stood on a hill over looking Bobby Singer's property, the place where all three Winchester's were currently residing, _**weakened**_…

It gave a wicked grin at the thought and then looked down at the sniveling, groveling human being kneeling at its feet. As the man made another pathetic cry, begging for mercy, begging for life, it would get the first, not the latter.

It began its chant, its symbols already etched into the ground, waiting for spilt blood to complete the spell, to destroy the protections set upon Singer's land, allowing him access to the grounds and all those inside it.

The full moon glittered above him; it was the right time, his best chance for success.

As its chant grew louder, entering the final stages of the Latin rite, it pulled out its cold gleaming steel dagger and took it to the groveling local man's throat, completing the ritual with the now dead man's blood.

Once the ceremony was over it lazily kicked the corpse of the man aside and strolled down the slope into Singer's grounds, twisting the glistening bloody blade in its fingers, relishing in the feeling of easily passing through the defenses unharmed. A vicious smile on its face…tonight was the night to bring its plans into realization; it could feel it… it was time.


	10. Recap and Chapter 8

A/N: Wow, yep, I'm finally back. I know it's been a long time, I'm very, very, very **sorry**. I've been so busy; lots of little emergencies take up a lot of time. I have so many excuse I could write a book with them alone but I'm betting you would all just rather read the new chapter (I made the 3000 word mark I was aiming for! Yay!).

**Thanks** to Sarah for her super speedy beta! XD

Guess what? It's my **birthday**! I am **sixteen** today XD

A very **brief recap** for those of us who have forgotten what happened in this story so far (I forgot it and I wrote it lol), with preppy comments because I'm bored and I'm just cool like that lol.

**Chap 1:** Dean has a nightmare about the yellow-eyed demon, and Sam worries about him, aww.

**Chap 2:** Dean has a shower mmmm… And Sam eats mmm… Why do I find that attractive? Anyway *Cough*… Dean gives Sam a fright and works on his car, yay Impala, best car ever made, anyway, Dean blacks out in the junkyard and comes to hurt and crying… aww sad.

**Chap 3:** John, Bobby and Sam worry about Dean and Dean brushes them off, and John and Bobby feel like outsider with Sam and Dean, aww. Sam and Dean have a chick flick moment, aww.

**Chap 4:** Dean has another nightmare, Dean and John awkwardness and Sam has a toast daydream… and then the Impala again, yay! Dean has scary black outs… Oooh scary… Then the Demon shows up in the junkyard, oooh even more scary. The Demon taunts Dean, how mean, and then Bobby shows up and the Demon is gone and Dean is confused, poor Dean.

**Chap 5:** Bobby and Sam have been spying on Dean and now Dean is pissed, oooh. Sam and Dean fight, Dean yells at Sam, aww, Dean yells at John, aww. Dean gets drunk and possibly drugged at a bar and then the Demon shows up again, oooh. Drunken wooded scenery. Back at Bobby's. Demon POV. Drunken apology and Sam gets serious.

**Chap 6:** Dean has more nightmares, and he hits his head, oww. Sam Sleeping. Water. Awkward father/son talk. Dean is scared, aww my poor baby lol. Bathroom. Yellow eyes in the mirror. Dean is determined woo.

**Chap 7:** Sam is stubborn, yay Sammy! John and Bobby go out hunting. Sam and Dean have a one-sided conversation. Sam nearly gets Dean to talk; John and Bobby come back and ruin the moment. John and Bobby have a conversation, I love Bobby, he rules. Sam and Dean talk some more then go to sleep, awww. Demon POV, yay the Demon is finally here for real!

And now you are caught up. Next: the new chapter! Woo!

This chapter is most definitely M, I apologize if it offends anyone, I honestly didn't think I was going to make it so, umm, detailed, but I started writing it and all of a sudden there was dripping and blood and daggers oh my lol.

* * *

_**Red Herring**_

Any diversion intended to distract attention from the main issue.

_Part Eight:_

**The Devil Take The Hindmost.**

* * *

_Do You Remember The Night_

_When I Had To Play Your Angel_

_Saving Your Soul_

_Even Though You Were Holding On Tight_

_Part Of You Was Taken By Your Demons Below_

_KT Tunstall - Funnyman_

_Drip... Drop..._

_Drip... Drop..._

_Drip... Drop..._

_The steady sound of dripping is helping him stay focused, not that there's much point to staying focused by now._

_Drip... Drop..._

_Drip... Drop..._

_Drip... Drop..._

_It is sitting, legs crossed, on the other side of the room, marking a symbol into the wooden floor and chanting something that Dean doesn't understand. But he stopped looking at It a long time ago in favor of watching the steady drip._

_Drip... Drop..._

_Drip... Drop..._

_Drip... Drop..._

_He watches as more beads of blood make their way down his chest and arm, trailing down to his fingertips and slowly gathering into drops before dripping off his fingers to the puddle of red forming below._

_Drip... Drop..._

_Drip... Drop..._

_Drip... Drop..._

_The Demon is chanting in a dull bored voice and Dean isn't surprised at the tone, it must have been hours since this started. His fear has been replaced by an indifferent listlessness and the burning ache of pain as he struggles to keep his mind together with the help of the constant rhythm of drops._

_Drip... Drop..._

_Drip... Drop..._

_Drip... Drop..._

_Despite the aid that the dripping is providing his mind, he can't help but think the steadily growing pool of crimson forming beneath him from his position stuck on the wall can't be a good thing considering how large it was growing in the near silence._

_Drip... Drop..._

_Drip... Drop..._

_Drip... Drop..._

_"Finally." A voice says, breaking the long held monotony of the last few hours. It takes a few moments for Dean to register that it was the Demon who had spoken, Its monotone chanting apparently over. _

_And he wished he had been paying less attention to the dripping, he hadn't noticed the end of the chant or the Demon until It was speaking and standing only a step or two from where he was hanging dully on the wall. Unable to move he felt like some large freakish wall ornament._

_Drip... Drop..._

_Drip... Drop..._

_Drip... Drop..._

_"You have no idea how hard I've had to work for this because of you damn Winchesters," It smirked, bringing into view a large, elegant, glittering, ceremonial dagger "but don't you worry your pretty little head about it, Dean-o, I'll make sure you all pay."_

_Drip... Drop..._

_Drip... Drop..._

_Drip... Dro-_

_He screamed as It dragged the blade through his skin, carving a symbol he couldn't see onto his chest, but if he could have he would have recognized it as the same one marked on the floor. _

_There was something wrong he realized when he yelled out he didn't hear any sound. The Demon continued to wield Its knife and Dean continued to shout silently. _

_There was something else that was wrong too, when the blade cut him he felt it. He felt it. Not like his normal nightmares, and yes, in the endless hours that he had been here he had figured out this was one of his agonizingly real nightmares. Somehow he could feel that he wasn't going to wake up in pain but unharmed. This, this was real and both he and the Demon knew it._

_It was chanting again he vaguely realized. Not the bored listless chanting of before but a fast murmured excited chant, bringing glee to Its eyes. With one last sweep of Its dagger the symbol was complete._

_It didn't show any trace of pain as It dragged the knife across its own forearm, parting the flesh to release a stream of startling dark crimson liquid. _

_Pulling Dean's arm up and bringing it to Its arm, It used the blade to mix their combined blood. It walked over to Its identical symbol marked on the floor still murmuring ever faster. _

_With the last powerful note of the last strange word It flicked a drop of their intermingled blood from the blade to the floor in the center of the symbol. The drop fell with a patter sound as it reached the wood before the whole of the carved image burst into flame from the middle outwards._

_If he had been standing the pain would have brought him to the ground. The moment the blood touches the floor and the strange symbol breaks into fire, his body explodes into excruciating agony. _

_His eyesight fails him, switching from murky blackness to blinding white in the blink of an eye. His heart feels frozen over but his bones burn with a cruel unnatural fire, sweat trickling down his forehead. _

_He's trying to breathe but it's hard when his frozen lungs feel like they are filled with ice shards that are cutting into him like razors and yet his burning hot flesh feels like melting._

_Slowly all the agonizing pain starts to recede to the symbol cut into his chest, which, for a few minutes, houses all the unholy suffering making him desperately thrash as the combined pain assaults his abdomen until the agony seems to burn itself out, leaving him gasping for breath._

_Drip... Drop..._

_Drip... Drop..._

_Drip... Drop..._

_The fire light was blocking out the natural light from the full moon that glinted silver white above them, pouring light in through the broken windows, reflecting off the shattered glass lying hazardously on the wooded floor boards. _

_The brilliant pale white shone on the darkness outside, freedom little more then six feet away and yet an eternity away at the same time._

_Drip... Drop..._

_Drip... Drop..._

_Drip... Drop..._

_The Demon's eyes gleamed with satisfaction as It turned Its attention away from the fire and back to Dean, It hadn't shown the slightest twitch of pain while he had wallowed in agony. It smiled wickedly and walked over to him, holding the dagger in Its hand still._

_"You know," It said thoughtfully, "I think it's time we ended this."_

_Drip... Drop..._

_Drip-_

_The Demon plunged the knife into his chest and Dean awoke silently screaming._

He can't breathe.

It's his first conscious thought.

He can't breathe, his lungs are ice cold and his frozen heart is working sluggishly, trying in vain to pump blood through his body. A pointless effort since it is only pumping it out of him. He can feel the warm, life giving, red liquid pooling on his throbbing chest.

The only sound he can hear is his heart's slow unsteady pounding rebounding around in his mind.

He tries to open his sleep-clouded eyes, vision swimming with hazy tears of pain.

_Thud._

Yellow.

That was the last thing he saw in his dreams before blacking out into reality, the golden yellow of the Demon's eyes, and that very same color was the first thing he saw upon waking.

The Demon's eyes were shining gold with satisfaction and malice.

He was vaguely aware that he tried to scream, shout, call out, anything but just like his dream as much as he yelled no sound passed his lips.

_Thud._

The Demon was leaning over him, a ritualistic dagger clutched in one hand, dripping with blood, the other hand held down his arm. It clasped it so tightly he could feel the skin bruising and Its ragged fingernails were drawing blood.

His blood, he realized and swiftly after that became aware of the intense burning pain and agony ripping through his chest as an after effect of the Demon's blade.

_Thud._

He was trapped feeling the blood pooled on his chest begin to slide down his sides and gather at his neck; powerless to make a sound or move, not even able to break eye contact with the evil son of a bitch currently causing him suffering.

'Hello Dean-o,' Its unspoken voice somehow echoing in his head. "You and I have a few things to sort out.' He thought he heard as a twisted grin lit up Its face.

_Thud._

Everything was silent and still for a moment as if the world itself had stopped revolving, for a while the room was filled with an eerie, unnerving calm.

All he can do is stare at the stranger's cold yellow eyes full of hate, malevolence and viciousness that almost seemed to be waiting for something to break the stillness.

He can feel the warm, sticky, wet blood slowly begin to run down the pool that formed on his neck after leaking out from his chest; it gradually trails down his neck to his pillow and bed.

He lies in his bed, bleeding, breathing and waiting.

_Thud._

And then the calm was shattered by the coarse sound of screaming.

No not a scream, a yell, a cry for help, only it wasn't him who was making it.

_Sammy._

After the initial placidity is broken, rather a lot of things happen at once, the most important of these being John and Bobby bursting into the room guns drawn and blazing.

Any other sound in the room is drowned out by gunfire as a barrage of bullets of different kinds sink into the flesh of the being standing over Dean.

Eventually the deafening noise comes to a close as the two eldest hunters stop shooting, the room going suddenly motionless, ringing with a resounding silence in which nobody moves; all of them waiting for something to happen, some sign of what to do next.

And finally something does, It starts laughing, a low, raspy, harsh sounding chuckle like grinding metal. It laughs louder and Sam stares at It in utter confusion.

"Guns? Really? That's all you got Johnny boy? A couple of firearms? You really expect that to stop me destroying what's left of your family? You're a lot more simple minded then I thought." Its voice is cutting, filled with intermingling hate and amusement.

"Get the fuck away from him." John growls in a dead serious voice, taking a warning step into the room, Uncle Bobby right beside him.

It sniggers and laughs again, "Make me."

Maybe it was because it was so unexpected; maybe it was the pure stupidity of the move that made it successful. All that really mattered was that in mere seconds, John had crossed the room grabbed the Demon by the scruff of the neck and thrown the demonic creature through the doorway and out into the hall.

There was a bleary moment of shock where nobody dared to move an inch. Eventually the Demon spoke. "You're gonna pay for that one, Johnny boy."

And that's when all hell broke loose.

Dean lost track of what was happening around him after that. He dimly remembered that John, Bobby and the Demon had taken up the fight again somewhere else in the house, and Sammy had walked over to him asked if he was okay, told him to stay put, and then left to go join the fray.

There was shouting and shooting and God knows what else as the whole house hummed with the sounds of crashing and banging.

He sat up and looked down in the faint light spilling in from the hallway at his bleeding abdomen. His sheets were covered in crimson just like his ripped and ruined shirt. With shaking hands he pulled the material away from the wounds and gave a hiss of pain as the fabric moved out of the lacerations.

Fuck.

This wasn't good.

The fight was still going on as he slowly and painfully lifted the shirt over his head, stretching the damaged flesh of his chest.

He grabbed a clean part of his sheets from the end of his bed and gently wiped the blood off of himself, avoiding any of the open wounds that formed an as yet unknown symbol.

Gradually gathering his strength he made his way to his bag and grabbed a loose fitting dark colored shirt, pulled it on carefully and reached deep into his bag again this time pulling out a gun and gingerly he made his way out into the hall.

The sounds of fighting got louder, seeming like they were coming from the kitchen.

Walking through the practically destroyed lounge he saw an unconscious Uncle Bobby lying behind a mound of overturned books, ineffective holy water dripping from a flask loosely held in his limp grip.

He didn't see Sam or John anywhere so once he was sure he could see the rise and fall of Bobby's chest he kept walking to the kitchen; gun at the ready, slowly moving into the doorway unnoticed by the room's occupants.

Shit.

It had John pinned to the wall and it looked like things were about to take a violent turn for the worst if the dangerous expressions on the man the Demon was possessing and John's face was anything to go by.

Their voices are low and deadly as John Winchester and the Demon that killed his wife speak. "There's no way in hell you're getting Sam, you can forget it you ugly son of a bitch." The tone of John's voice leaves no doubt that if he had been able to moved his hand it would have been around the Demon's throat, even knowing that there was an innocent trapped inside.

"You really think it's all about Sam, Johnny boy? Haven't you ever thought that just maybe I want both of them?" The Demon's ugly look turned into a more disturbing wicked grin.

A look of horror quickly passes over his father's face but is soon replaced by an expression of pure hatred that said if he could have he would have been tearing the man in front of him to pieces. "I'll kill you, you aren't getting either of my sons, you sick bastard."

It smiled horribly again, laughter in Its voice, "You can't protect them. You can't protect them any better then you protected your wife."

It raises him higher on the wall, moving him close to the ceiling, and fear floods into Dean's mind like a tidal wave before the Demon lowers his dad down a few feet, sadistic mirth shining on Its face like a cat that toys with a mouse before killing it.

Horror and anger flash in John's eyes as he starts shouting. "You fucking son of a bitch, I swear to God I'm gonna kill you! You stay the hell away from my family!"

Without a doubt blood would have been shed if it hadn't been that moment that Dean chose to step into full view of the kitchen's inhabitants.

He has fired three rounds into Its back by the time It turns to face him, John dropping like a stone behind It, head slamming into the kitchen bench pulling him into unconsciousness and leaving a thin bloody line on the older hunter's forehead.

It takes a step towards Dean and two more bullets sink into Its flesh unnoticed.

With a flick of Its eyes he is sent flying into the air before smashing into the wall and sliding to the floor, gun flung to the far side of the room.

His sleep deprived, over worked body feels like a sack of led as he clambers to get to his feet before the advancing Demon.

He tries to slip away sideways but his back hits another wall and he knows he's literally cornered. With no room to move his options are fading fast.

The Demon walks casually over, grinning a nefarious grin that says '_it's good to finally see you in person.'_ Sinister intentions are the only thing clear on Its face. There is a menacing threat in the way It smiles, sending chills down Dean's spine. It uses Its abilities to pull him just a little higher then his full height, his feet hanging uselessly against the wall.

"Hiya Deanie boy, what's the matter, aren't you happy to see me? And here I was so thrilled to see you face to face again" It sarcastically whispers in his face.

Fear is making Dean sick to his stomach and the Demon's eyes are flashing dangerously, a twisted sort of amusement shining on Its face.

"Don't be scared I won't hurt you…Yet." It says and he involuntarily shudders. "Still haven't figured it out have you? Still don't remember why I'm here, such naivete, it's almost sad…almost makes me feel bad." It chuckles "Almost. The time has co-"

Dean and the Demon's heads snap up to look at the doorway as Sam walks in to the room, throwing something metal to a now sitting up John.

The whole room freezes as John Winchester stands up behind the Demon, conscious again and holding a very special old colt revolver pointed at the Demon's head. That's when things change control.

"Step the fuck away from my son." At that moment John Winchester's voice could have sent shivers down the most hardened monsters spines.

The Demon slowly steps back and raises Its hands in a compliant gesture and the invisible force holding Dean to the wall fails and he sinks to the floor like a bag of rocks.

John moves to lower the gun and the Demon holds Its hands up complaisantly, hanging Its head in defeat. But there is a hardness in both of their eyes that betrays their actions and in a few short seconds Sam and Dean know why.

It all happens so fast, John raises the gun in less then the blink of an eye and the Demon is sending them all flying into the walls and crashing to the floor. Before John has a second chance to shoot the colt a stream of black smoke is billowing out of the possessed man's mouth.

The man stands unsteadily on his feet for a moment, eyes rolling to the back of his head, before tumbling down dead, blood leaking from obvious knife wounds on his side and back.

With two sets of eyes solely focused on the now dead man's fall no one sees that one flash of a millisecond, that one fragment of a moment that everyone, Dean included, misses when for a single brief instant in time his breath hitches and his eyes flash golden yellow.

With that flash the first part of the Demon's plan has come to fruition. Somewhere deep down in the recesses of Dean's mind It lurks in waiting, waiting for that one night when the rest of Its plans we be fulfilled and It will make Its deadly final blow to the Winchesters. Until then It would wait, and It would study, and It would make them regret ever trying to hunt a being as powerful as itself.

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Give me a 16th birthday present by reviewing? Pretty please with cheese on top? Review XD


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